Here's something you might be interested in.
In 1980, I was living at the Chateau Rossmore in Hollywood. One Sunday morning, I lay in bed, eating a grilled-cheese sandwich while watching Dr. Robert Schuller's sermon from the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove. I didn't have any religious upbringing, and that was certainly evident in the lifestyle I was living in Hollywood. But one thing he said affected me so profoundly, I can remember it to this day. He said, "You can't give love away. If you try, it only comes back to you tenfold."
Katie, my Akita mix, was proof of this. I volunteered as a dog walker at a north county animal shelter when I came upon the striking black and white senior dog. No one knew how old she was, but her worn teeth and cloudy eyes told me that she was no spring chicken. She was slow and sat down often on her walks. "You've got to get up," I'd say, panicking because I couldn't carry her 60 pounds back to the shelter. It was August and I was sweating. I tasted grit between my teeth.
She had a grandma's gentleness and despite a dreadful life, she never held a grudge. She was so loved by the staff, she was allowed to stay four months without getting the ax. When she dropped a biscuit, she let me pick it up and hand it to her. She didn't snap at my hand like some dogs do. "She's going to be a great dog for somebody," I thought. I had no idea that somebody would be me.
Two dogs surrounded me in front of my mail box. The leader, a hound, curled his lip at me. Not one to back down for anything, I scared them off. Then with trembling hands, I raised hell with the mobile home park manager. I told her that if the "No dogs allowed" rule was followed, things like this wouldn't happen. She told me that there was no "No dogs allowed" rule. I'd been living at Mountain Shadows so long, the zoning laws had changed without my knowledge. I could have kissed her. Then I raced out to the shelter to pick out my new dog.
I considered the young, cute ones. I considered the purebreds. I considered the small ones. I felt like a kid at See's Candies, not knowing which one to pick. And then I stumbled upon old Katie. Many people had come to see her, but no one had returned to claim her as their own. I get angry whenever someone brags about how they "rescued" a "blue ribbon" dog. If a dog is young, cute, small or purebred, a person does not rescue it. A dog like that can get a million takers. A person only rescues a dog that is at risk for going down. And that dog was Katie.
She was getting her free medical exam when a veterinary assistant asked me why she'd been at the shelter. I tend to stay away from news that can tear my heart apart.. But when someone else asked why, I decided to find out.
The adoption counselor clicked a few buttons and in a routine voice, told me that Katie had been a transient dog. Police had found her tied to a tree in a riverbed and left to die. She had been covered in fleas and tapeworms. My stomach dropped. I thought about her sad past every time I looked at her.
She became my "velcro dog," clinging to me like there was no tomorrow. She knew better than anyone what it was like to have no tomorrow and she didn't want to be there again. The image of Katie under a tree in the hot sun with no food or water tore at my soul. I promised her that she'd never be alone again.
People lose interest when I tell my stories. They can go on and on telling theirs, but their eyes glaze over if mine run a bit too long. So when I saw that Good Housekeeping magazine was accepting reader submissions about their blessings, I decided to tell my story about Katie. My story would surely be unique. Who'd write about her old dog? Especially one that didn't come with a blue ribbon?
I spent a half an hour writing my story, and then sent it off with no plans to ever hear anything about it again. Getting published in a national magazine just didn't happen to real people. Two months later, I sat in front of my computer, afraid I'd turn back into a pumpkin at any moment, as I read an email sent by Laura Mathews, literary editor of Good Housekeeping. She wanted "Adopting Katie" for the January, 2007 issue.
She called from New York City for my byline. My byline? I hadn't ever thought of myself as a byline sort of woman. As she talked, I thought, Could this be happening to me? Someone who was once on food stamps? It was as surreal as Michelle Obama's first night in the White House. I'm sure we've both filed these experiences under "Never Dreamed It Would Happen To Me."
During the fall of 2006, Katie had a chronic ear infection. She fought me when I squeezed ear wash into her ear canal and wiped the smelly crud with cotton. By November, I became dizzy when I looked at the vet bills. My teenager took it well when I told her there would be no Christmas. Then three days before the big day, an envelope from Laura came in the mail. I figured a big magazine might pay maybe $500. My knees nearly buckled when I pulled out a check for $1,000. Our wheels hardly hit the asphalt as my daughter and I sped down to Fashion Valley.
Another Cinderella moment broke the day the magazine hit the racks. Dr. Phil was on the cover. I still feel warm and fuzzy when I see him. At my dentist's office, I did a little dance when I saw the magazine on display. His girls looked at me as if I'd popped my cork.
Emails and phone calls started to come in to GH and my home. The story seemed to have struck a nerve with women who like me, had overcome breast cancer with the help of their best friend. When the new issue came out in February, I turned to "Blessings" to see whose essay followed mine. I got goosebumps when I saw that it was called "Moving Day," and it was written by Sue Monk Kidd, author of "The Mermaid Chair" and "The Secret Life Of Bees."
A year later Katie passed away under my kitchen table. As I had promised, she will never be alone again. I wear her ashes in a sterling silver heart urn around my neck.
But her love continues on. Last year, I was sick and required major surgery. I am allergic to narcotics and the substitute pain killer did little to quell the pain. I froze when I sat at my computer. How could I ever compete with "Adopting Katie?" My biggest fear was that I'd turn out like my late ex. He wrote "The First, The Last, My Everything," for the velvet teddy bear, Barry White, then spent the rest of his life trying to make lightening strike twice. It didn't happen. I dreaded being a one-hit wonder, a one-trick pony, an American Idol wannabe.
When the stock market crashed, I was so sick and depressed, I decided to give up on writing. Rejection slips had become too stressful. Pam from Ramona called me. She'd seen an old copy of "Adopting Katie" in her doctor's waiting room. She was a cancer victim who had survived with the help of her best friend too. We were instant cancer sisters, reviewing our highs and lows with the disease. Her final words before she hung up were, "keep writing."
Because of Pam in Ramona, I sat down at my computer once again. I didn't worry about writing something good enough, I just started writing. I thought about my neighborhood and realized just about the only place I went to anymore was the dog park. When I sorted through my experiences, I noticed a common thread. Each one involved a nutcase. "Crazy Dog People" was born.
The Reader's December 11 issue lay on the floor of my car for several days. I picked it up because the new issue was about to come out and anyway, I go into withdrawl if I don't get my weekly dose of "Diary Of A Diva." I crawled into bed and turned to the table of contents. There was a cute picture of dogs and a story on page 52. I'm always a sucker for a dog story.
I nearly swallowed my teeth. "Crazy Dog People" glared back at me. My choking and sputtering caused my son to come running. I pointed to the page. "I wrote that," I spit out. "And look! It comes with a $500 prize!" We were both out of work and his unemployment check hadn't arrived. Katie got us through another Christmas.
The following day, I got a letter from Stirling Publications. "Adopting Katie" had been selected for GH's gift book, "Blessings," to be published in the spring of 2010. Some writers never get published, but my name has made it to book stores on the first try. No one can ever take that accomplishment away. Katie gave that gift to me. Within the pages of that book, her love will live on.
When I got Katie, I had $35 to my name. That was the exact amount of her adoption fee. I took it as a sign from God that it was meant to be. I didn't expect anything more than the unconditional love of a great dog. I unwittingly was given so much more. Like Dr. Schuller promised so many years ago, I couldn't give love away. When I tried, it came back to me tenfold.
The love just keeps on giving:
This was taken from the April, 2009, Paws & Think Rescue Newsletter at PetswithoutParents.com about "Adopting Katie":
If anyone reading this has toyed with the idea of adopting an older dog--I am hoping this article seals the deal for you! Now, those of ypu who have already brought anolder recue into your home can appreciate it when I say, "They know that they have been saved, and they are as thankful as they can possibly be. It is the purest bond of love and friendhip I now, and I am lucky to have it! One of thethings that inspired me to walk this path of of animal rescue and adoption was this story. It of course was a forward fro a friend-of a friend-of a friend...you know how that goes. But this story was special, and has stayed with me of all those years. I hope it inspires at least one more person out there to give an older rescue anim second chance at a happy life. Behind those sad eyes and matted fur, they are truly blessings in disguise.
In 1980, I was living at the Chateau Rossmore in Hollywood. One Sunday morning, I lay in bed, eating a grilled-cheese sandwich while watching Dr. Robert Schuller's sermon from the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove. I didn't have any religious upbringing, and that was certainly evident in the lifestyle I was living in Hollywood. But one thing he said affected me so profoundly, I can remember it to this day. He said, "You can't give love away. If you try, it only comes back to you tenfold."
Katie, my Akita mix, was proof of this. I volunteered as a dog walker at a north county animal shelter when I came upon the striking black and white senior dog. No one knew how old she was, but her worn teeth and cloudy eyes told me that she was no spring chicken. She was slow and sat down often on her walks. "You've got to get up," I'd say, panicking because I couldn't carry her 60 pounds back to the shelter. It was August and I was sweating. I tasted grit between my teeth.
She had a grandma's gentleness and despite a dreadful life, she never held a grudge. She was so loved by the staff, she was allowed to stay four months without getting the ax. When she dropped a biscuit, she let me pick it up and hand it to her. She didn't snap at my hand like some dogs do. "She's going to be a great dog for somebody," I thought. I had no idea that somebody would be me.
Two dogs surrounded me in front of my mail box. The leader, a hound, curled his lip at me. Not one to back down for anything, I scared them off. Then with trembling hands, I raised hell with the mobile home park manager. I told her that if the "No dogs allowed" rule was followed, things like this wouldn't happen. She told me that there was no "No dogs allowed" rule. I'd been living at Mountain Shadows so long, the zoning laws had changed without my knowledge. I could have kissed her. Then I raced out to the shelter to pick out my new dog.
I considered the young, cute ones. I considered the purebreds. I considered the small ones. I felt like a kid at See's Candies, not knowing which one to pick. And then I stumbled upon old Katie. Many people had come to see her, but no one had returned to claim her as their own. I get angry whenever someone brags about how they "rescued" a "blue ribbon" dog. If a dog is young, cute, small or purebred, a person does not rescue it. A dog like that can get a million takers. A person only rescues a dog that is at risk for going down. And that dog was Katie.
She was getting her free medical exam when a veterinary assistant asked me why she'd been at the shelter. I tend to stay away from news that can tear my heart apart.. But when someone else asked why, I decided to find out.
The adoption counselor clicked a few buttons and in a routine voice, told me that Katie had been a transient dog. Police had found her tied to a tree in a riverbed and left to die. She had been covered in fleas and tapeworms. My stomach dropped. I thought about her sad past every time I looked at her.
She became my "velcro dog," clinging to me like there was no tomorrow. She knew better than anyone what it was like to have no tomorrow and she didn't want to be there again. The image of Katie under a tree in the hot sun with no food or water tore at my soul. I promised her that she'd never be alone again.
People lose interest when I tell my stories. They can go on and on telling theirs, but their eyes glaze over if mine run a bit too long. So when I saw that Good Housekeeping magazine was accepting reader submissions about their blessings, I decided to tell my story about Katie. My story would surely be unique. Who'd write about her old dog? Especially one that didn't come with a blue ribbon?
I spent a half an hour writing my story, and then sent it off with no plans to ever hear anything about it again. Getting published in a national magazine just didn't happen to real people. Two months later, I sat in front of my computer, afraid I'd turn back into a pumpkin at any moment, as I read an email sent by Laura Mathews, literary editor of Good Housekeeping. She wanted "Adopting Katie" for the January, 2007 issue.
She called from New York City for my byline. My byline? I hadn't ever thought of myself as a byline sort of woman. As she talked, I thought, Could this be happening to me? Someone who was once on food stamps? It was as surreal as Michelle Obama's first night in the White House. I'm sure we've both filed these experiences under "Never Dreamed It Would Happen To Me."
During the fall of 2006, Katie had a chronic ear infection. She fought me when I squeezed ear wash into her ear canal and wiped the smelly crud with cotton. By November, I became dizzy when I looked at the vet bills. My teenager took it well when I told her there would be no Christmas. Then three days before the big day, an envelope from Laura came in the mail. I figured a big magazine might pay maybe $500. My knees nearly buckled when I pulled out a check for $1,000. Our wheels hardly hit the asphalt as my daughter and I sped down to Fashion Valley.
Another Cinderella moment broke the day the magazine hit the racks. Dr. Phil was on the cover. I still feel warm and fuzzy when I see him. At my dentist's office, I did a little dance when I saw the magazine on display. His girls looked at me as if I'd popped my cork.
Emails and phone calls started to come in to GH and my home. The story seemed to have struck a nerve with women who like me, had overcome breast cancer with the help of their best friend. When the new issue came out in February, I turned to "Blessings" to see whose essay followed mine. I got goosebumps when I saw that it was called "Moving Day," and it was written by Sue Monk Kidd, author of "The Mermaid Chair" and "The Secret Life Of Bees."
A year later Katie passed away under my kitchen table. As I had promised, she will never be alone again. I wear her ashes in a sterling silver heart urn around my neck.
But her love continues on. Last year, I was sick and required major surgery. I am allergic to narcotics and the substitute pain killer did little to quell the pain. I froze when I sat at my computer. How could I ever compete with "Adopting Katie?" My biggest fear was that I'd turn out like my late ex. He wrote "The First, The Last, My Everything," for the velvet teddy bear, Barry White, then spent the rest of his life trying to make lightening strike twice. It didn't happen. I dreaded being a one-hit wonder, a one-trick pony, an American Idol wannabe.
When the stock market crashed, I was so sick and depressed, I decided to give up on writing. Rejection slips had become too stressful. Pam from Ramona called me. She'd seen an old copy of "Adopting Katie" in her doctor's waiting room. She was a cancer victim who had survived with the help of her best friend too. We were instant cancer sisters, reviewing our highs and lows with the disease. Her final words before she hung up were, "keep writing."
Because of Pam in Ramona, I sat down at my computer once again. I didn't worry about writing something good enough, I just started writing. I thought about my neighborhood and realized just about the only place I went to anymore was the dog park. When I sorted through my experiences, I noticed a common thread. Each one involved a nutcase. "Crazy Dog People" was born.
The Reader's December 11 issue lay on the floor of my car for several days. I picked it up because the new issue was about to come out and anyway, I go into withdrawl if I don't get my weekly dose of "Diary Of A Diva." I crawled into bed and turned to the table of contents. There was a cute picture of dogs and a story on page 52. I'm always a sucker for a dog story.
I nearly swallowed my teeth. "Crazy Dog People" glared back at me. My choking and sputtering caused my son to come running. I pointed to the page. "I wrote that," I spit out. "And look! It comes with a $500 prize!" We were both out of work and his unemployment check hadn't arrived. Katie got us through another Christmas.
The following day, I got a letter from Stirling Publications. "Adopting Katie" had been selected for GH's gift book, "Blessings," to be published in the spring of 2010. Some writers never get published, but my name has made it to book stores on the first try. No one can ever take that accomplishment away. Katie gave that gift to me. Within the pages of that book, her love will live on.
When I got Katie, I had $35 to my name. That was the exact amount of her adoption fee. I took it as a sign from God that it was meant to be. I didn't expect anything more than the unconditional love of a great dog. I unwittingly was given so much more. Like Dr. Schuller promised so many years ago, I couldn't give love away. When I tried, it came back to me tenfold.
The love just keeps on giving:
This was taken from the April, 2009, Paws & Think Rescue Newsletter at PetswithoutParents.com about "Adopting Katie":
If anyone reading this has toyed with the idea of adopting an older dog--I am hoping this article seals the deal for you! Now, those of ypu who have already brought anolder recue into your home can appreciate it when I say, "They know that they have been saved, and they are as thankful as they can possibly be. It is the purest bond of love and friendhip I now, and I am lucky to have it! One of thethings that inspired me to walk this path of of animal rescue and adoption was this story. It of course was a forward fro a friend-of a friend-of a friend...you know how that goes. But this story was special, and has stayed with me of all those years. I hope it inspires at least one more person out there to give an older rescue anim second chance at a happy life. Behind those sad eyes and matted fur, they are truly blessings in disguise.